


Some Time in New York City

by backintimeforstuff



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, New York City, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backintimeforstuff/pseuds/backintimeforstuff
Summary: "The Doctor likes to blame a lot of things on Amy Pond, because he's found it's just easier.The one thing – and one thing alone – he takes complete credit for, is her obsession with New York City."The Doctor and Amy spend three days in the city that never sleeps, doing the most touristy things they can think of.Set somewhere during early series 5.





	1. 2.7 Billion Miles from Broadway

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably three times longer than it needs to be - I just got carried away.   
> Comments greatly appreciated :)

The Doctor likes to blame a lot of things on Amy Pond, because he’s found it’s just easier. 

If they miss seeing a rare starlight spectacle by a fraction of a second, in his opinion it’s totally her fault and no questions should be asked. The small matter of the TARDIS malfunctioning is entirely beside the point.

If something goes catastrophically wrong on one of their adventures, well, that’s her fault too. If they get accosted, or held hostage, trapped somewhere or entirely lost, it’s nothing do with him. Almost never. Five times out of ten. 

The incessant rambling is usually her fault too, which makes sense to him because it comes out of her mouth. His own relentless stream of consciousness isn’t a problem, because he spends most of the time pretending it doesn’t exist. 

Truth be told he secretly likes it when she rambles – but she has an exasperating habit of recounting entire chapters of her life without any prompt at all. She can talk about the same thing for days and days on end, walking in on him and relaying anecdotes that seem to elapse in a giant circle. He’s pretty sure he’s heard some stories from her kissogram days at least a hundred times; but the last thing he’d ever do is stop her. 

\---

The one thing – and one thing alone – he takes complete credit for, is her obsession with New York City. 

He makes the mistake one evening of actually asking her a question, after they’ve sat down for dinner following a long day on Callisto.

He leans across the table slightly, not partaking in the Bolognese that Amy’s made, or quite possibly willed into existence. 

“You remember when I came back for you?” 

He’s casually interested, that’s all. That’s what he’ll tell himself later when things inevitably get out of hand. 

“Which time?” She’s quick to reply, looking over her fork at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“The...second time.” 

“Oh, the second time!” She’s already enjoying this. She’s wearing that snide smile of hers, and the sarcasm coupled with it has the potential to completely obliterate him. “Because the first time wasn’t really-”

“-Wasn’t really coming back for you, I know.” The Doctor nods slightly, giving in to the virtual point she’s already scored against him. “But, y’know, the whole, night before your wedding, all of time and space, do you remember it?” 

He’s painfully aware he’s close to crossing a line with his questioning, but Amy just drops her fork back into the bowl and looks at him with an air of disapproving humour. 

“Course I remember it. You turning up acting all mysterious.” 

“I am mysterious!” The Doctor indignantly injects, before giving in again a second later when she rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah right. I know guys from Gloucester who are more enigmatic. All coat collars and cheekbones. Went to the grammar school.” Amy shrugs before digging back into her pasta. “Posh, I suppose.” 

There’s a moment of silence before the rambling starts. There’s no way he can stop her. 

She tells him reams and reams about everything, about late night gatherings in parks under twilight, about gate crashing student unions and a planned trip to New York City which has both happened and hasn’t happened yet at exactly the same time. She’s waving her fork around like a baton, pushing the bowl away to gesture her delight on the prospect of avenues upon avenues of American sunlight. As quickly as she started, she stops. She looks somewhat sheepishly around at the TARDIS kitchen and then back at the Doctor. 

“I suppose I missed out on that one.” 

He doesn’t know whether it’s something he should have seen coming – that one-day Amy might recount an anecdote that she longs to get back to. At least with this, The Doctor suspects it’s not the enigmatic Gloucesterians she longs for – for she never mentions them again – but more for the for glistening city of New York, with all of its towering pillars of freedom, life, light and hope. She never stops mentioning that. 

After that night, many of her monologues begin with the phrase ‘Just imagine it!’ as if the concept of New York is beyond other worldly, something that exists in unreachable realms of fairy tale. 

He’s never before seen her so dreamy – she’ll come in and swing her legs from the seat under the console, her eyes distant at the thought of skyscrapers and sunbeams. The Doctor doesn’t even believe she’s trying to entice him into landing there, the city is just something she’s blissfully besotted with. If she was intentionally hinting at it, she would have had her way and they’d be there by now. He’s entirely convinced. 

After a few days The Doctor almost feels a bit guilty for showing her the stars – on the night before her wedding was one thing, but making her miss New York; well, she never ever seems to tire of talking about it. He’s so sure from the way she talks, staring with glazed eyes and letting her imagination run wild; that she would have loved every single second of it. 

The thought of Amy Pond let loose in Manhattan is something that never fails to make him smile. It never fails to make him cringe either, because he can’t possibly begin to imagine the level of chaos that would follow in her wake. One of her wicked smiles is enough to counter entire alien species, never mind a couple of blocks and a boating lake. The destruction would be entirely unprecedented. 

She spends an entire night talking about skyscrapers and starlight, hatching a bizarre plan of turning every single light off in the city just to see the eye of Orion from Times Square. The Doctor shakes his head in bewilderment when she looks at him, as if it’s something she expects him to pull off. 

He thanks the high heavens that he’s chosen to orbit Neptune that day, as it’s put a safe 2.7 billion miles between them and Broadway. 

\---

“You’d fit right in, y’know.” 

Amy mutters this grumpily almost a month after their first discussion at the dinner table, and looking up from a book, The Doctor can’t help but be a little surprised. 

She gives him a look which tells he’s as close to being an idiot as he can possibly get, so he sighs and waits for the inevitable explanation. 

“If you’re about to say that New York is all normal, just… Earth-like, it’s really not.” 

Amy’s opening sentence confuses him. He’s about to open his mouth and tell her that she can’t possibly know that; having never been, but something in the air suggests she’d shoot daggers into him with her look alone. Possibly javelins, if he’s caught her in the wrong mood. 

Instead, he watches her silently with interest as she sits opposite him in the library, knees tucked under her as if she’s about to start recounting a story full of myths, legends, and some dragons thrown in for good measure. As far as the Doctor is concerned, the closest thing New York has ever come to having a dragon was in 1995, with the creation of an American football team. Not that he’d ever tell her that. He isn’t sure why he even knows that himself, but he shrugs, because it doesn’t even seem to matter. 

“I just feel like it’s one of those places you can see starlight, y’know?” 

She looks at him as if she expects him to agree. The Doctor laughs quietly.

“You can see starlight from Leadworth if you try hard enough, Pond.” 

“What I mean is-”

She’s not taking no for an answer, not today. Her head’s in the clouds, far above the tallest tower on 5th Avenue, and the frantic gestures tell him there’s no stopping her. 

“-It’s got things going for it. Everyone talks about it. All the time.”

“Well, you certainly do.” 

She’s stopped paying attention to him. She may be proving a point, but Amy Pond would happily prove a point to a brick wall, so whether he’s five feet from her or not, makes no difference. 

She tells him that the city feels so alive, that anything and everything could happen there at exactly the same time. Step one foot over Brooklyn Bridge it almost feels bigger on the inside. It’s the city that never sleeps too, so naturally, he’d feel right at home. 

Right here right now, her explanation feels more like she’s hinting at it, so in the end, he gives in. 

Next stop, New York City.


	2. A Sense of Insanity

“Amelia!” 

It’s the next morning and she’s not up yet. 

He reckons she’ll want to be when she realises what’s finally outside the TARDIS door though, and he smiles to himself because he hopes that she has the best day in the world. 

When she appears at the top of the stairs, she’s confused, and he doesn’t blame her. It’s very rare for him to have landed anywhere before breakfast because usually it’s her choice. He supposes this time is her choice too, but she just doesn’t know it yet. 

“You will never, ever, guess where we’ve landed.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, pulling a dressing down haphazardly around her nightie. 

“Back on Neptune? Callisto?” 

“Nope.” 

“Leadworth?” 

“Very funny.” 

“Tell me!” 

She’s impatient, but it’s a playful impatience, he notes with a smile and she comes to join him on the glass floor with a whine. He taps her lightly on the nose. 

“I don’t need to tell you.”

“You sort of do.” 

“I really, really don’t.” 

She whacks him on the arm for that. 

“Fine.” 

“Fine?” 

He watches her with interest as she pouts sleepily, walking away from him around the console. 

“Fine, you are mysterious. But an irritating kind of mysterious, not a sexy kind of mysterious like those guys in Gloucester.” 

“On no account am I attempting to be a sexy kind of mysterious.” 

At the Doctor’s response, Amy’s back by his side and grinning like a Cheshire cat. She puts her hand in the crook of his elbow, and she knows she’s got to him. 

“Come on. Please. Where are we?” 

She’s inches from him. He could just tell her. Three words and the look on her face would be immense. He imagines she’d give him a hug to knock the both of them off their feet, but he better not speculate. 

“It’s easier just to show you.”

It’s three words or a click of his fingers, and to be perfectly fair, the latter seems more magical. 

The TARDIS door clicks open on his command, but they can’t see much. From where they’re standing it just looks like a lot of water, and Amy raises her eyebrow. 

The Doctor says nothing, and waves a hand nonchalantly at the open doorway. 

“Take a look.” 

\---

For the city that never sleeps, the reservoir in Central Park is quiet. 

He’s calculated it’s about 8 am on a misty spring morning in March, so The Doctor suspects they may have startled some ducks in the midst of materialisation, but that’s about it. He’s a couple of paces behind Amy as she steps out of the door and takes in the view, stopping dead at the sight of the surroundings. 

He can tell by her silence that she’s caught between laughing and crying, and he muses that if anyone can see them right now, they must look pretty odd. A girl in a dressing gown gaping at the view like she’s never seen a lake before, and a man with an indescribable blue box and an even more questionable haircut. 

He watches her with a smile as she stares in absolute wonder, tangled ginger hair fluttering in the breeze. He’s struck then that this is the first time he’s genuinely seen her speechless. 

Usually her levels of psychical excitement and enthusiasm are enough to exhaust even him, and while he doesn’t doubt, she’s over the moon to be standing here, it’s beyond something she can begin to comprehend. He loves that she hasn’t uttered a single word, not even one of exclamation. She knows exactly where she is and she just wants to stand. 

Eventually, when she’s said nothing for so long it looks like her knees are going to give way, The Doctor steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. He smiles at the water and the skyscrapers, all the birds and the trees that are slowly blossoming. 

“Amy Pond; New York City.” 

\---

After she’s finally managed to collect her thoughts – well, most of them – and after she’s thrown herself at him in the most tackle-esque hug he’s ever experienced, he holds her. 

He’s got one hand in her ginger hair, the other around her waist, and he curses himself for not landing here sooner. Amy’s nails dig in to the back of his jacket, and regardless of how much of a handful she can be at times, he loves it when she’s like this. 

Give Amelia Pond all of time and space and she wants none of it but New York. 

He can’t help but appreciate her sense of insanity in that.

He’s used to her taking decades to find something to wear, and this time is no exception. 

He never really minds, and at least this time he has a view to gaze at while she faffs around inside the TARDIS. He supposes he could kill some time by talking to the ducks. He’d happily announce his linguistic ability to speak duck, but he has a feeling Amy would have something to say. She always seems to. 

After what feels like an eternity, (although is probably only an hour), Amy re-emerges. She’s decided on a pale yellow dress coupled with a denim jacket, one which wouldn’t be out of place in the 1980s. She smiles at him somewhat delicately through intricately curled hair, and he shakes his head in disbelief because she will never ever make any sense to him. 

She reaches out to take his hand, and he decides to let her. Just this once. 

The TARDIS disappears into the distance as they make their way around the bank of the reservoir together. The sunlight streams through the trees as the mist starts to clear, and the Doctor’s all for appreciating the view, but Amy’s got his hand in a strange grip and he knows she isn’t going to let him loiter for too long. Instead, she’s leading him off down a side lane with blossom scattering the floor, with no real idea where she’s going. 

They end up on a path nearer the East side entrances of the park, where the glow from buildings and the hustle and bustle of it all starts to meet their ears. The Doctor can’t stop himself from smiling slightly as he watches Amy as she gazes at everything and swings their arms back and forth. A little further down, she looks back at him with eyes full of wonder as they stop to sit beneath a cherry blossom tree. 

“So, what’s the plan then mister?” 

She leans into his shoulder with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh, I don’t know…” The Doctor looks back at her. “Isn’t that your choice?” 

He can see about a thousand suggestions in her eyes already, so he laughs quietly, looking at down his left hand which Amy’s fingers are still entwined in. “It probably should be.” 

She hasn’t moved. She’s inches from him, that wicked smile he’s been slightly afraid of appearing at long last. 

“How much time have we got?” 

She knows it’s a stupid question really, she’s sat next to the only person on Earth with a time machine at his disposal, so really, time is irrelevant. 

They could spend years and years here all in the space of five minutes, but she knows that’s not really his style. He’s all for little spontaneous trips, but his general boredom is exhausting. One day somewhere, and then they’re off. 

Things to do, planets to save, he says. She can’t usually argue with that one. 

He’s actually very close to launching into a lecture about no-one having time in the first place, seeing as no one can technically own it, but he thinks, ironically, she won’t have time for that. Instead, he looks back at her, giving her the most fanciful smile he can muster. 

“All the time in the world.” 

\--- 

The Doctor finds it slightly amusing that Amy’s completely overwhelmed.

For all the times she’s dreamt about this place, with all its avenues of wonder, he can tell she’s never actually taken a second to consider what would happen if she actually got here – there’s so much potential at her fingertips in this city, and it seems to dwarf her. 

She starts by reeling off possible tourist attractions, looking around quizzically as she tries to remember all of them. The Doctor just nods along, his smile growing with every possibility until she grinds to a halt. 

Of course, he probably should have speculated she wants to do everything. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. 

Just to add to the growing logistical confusion, in view of their time machine, he throws some names from the past up into the air for her consideration. 

Always good to catch up with Frank Sinatra or Billie Holiday, he muses, and Jacky Kennedy can be inspiring, if you like inspiring. He thinks she and Amy would get on like a house on fire, which is – while he thinks about it – something best left for the imagination. The NYFD already have enough on their hands. 

After he’s thrown Theodore Roosevelt, Christopher Columbus, or a potential trip to find The Beatles into the mix, her silence scares him. 

Amy Pond is never usually one to sit and listen, especially when she has something to say. Which she always does, because she’s very disagreeable in a weirdly agreeable sort of way. 

The pause she’s left is questionable at best. If spending time with the great and the good isn’t on her list, he has no idea what is. 

“…Can I just spend time with… you?” 

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. He looks down at a piece of blossom that’s come to settle on his right foot. Then he’s back to staring right at her because he doesn’t know what else to do. And then he smiles the most genuine smile he can remember. 

Of course, Amelia, he thinks. Of course.


	3. An Empire State of Mind

“Where to first then?” 

It’s a little after 10 am, and he has to ask, for fear that they could sit here all day and talk. 

For someone so desperate to see New York, Amy is very attached to this bench under the blossom tree, which he has to admit, is rather pretty. 

“Let’s see, shall we?” 

And she’s off, pulling him up by the hand, grinning from ear to ear and almost swaying in the wind that’s built up around them. She drags him through the first gate they can find, and here they are. Out of Central Park and into the streets of New York City. 

“How about that way?” 

Amy points south, to the glistening tower of the Empire State. He’s sold. 

It takes a while to get there, but he doesn’t mind. Getting the subway would be quicker of course, but he wouldn’t miss Amy’s face for the world. 

She’s staring at everything and anything in absolute awe as if she can’t quite believe it to be real. Impressive buildings down to hot-dog stands, it doesn’t matter. To Amy Pond, everything here is extraordinary, which makes him smile because she didn’t even find this much joy in the outer rings of Saturn. 

It’s the small things, he supposes. 

Certainly one of the small things is that she still hasn’t let go of his hand yet, not that he’s entirely complaining. 

One thing it is useful for is stopping her abruptly when she tries to do or say anything questionable, as usually he’d have to run after her in a vaguely humiliating panic. 

The moment she suggests walking up the Empire State, he grounds her to a halt with an expression of disbelief. He really hopes she knows that while he’s willing to tolerate her wishes on this trip, climbing 103 floors is pushing it. After all, he’s 908 and getting on a bit. 

If Amy is amazed by hot-dog stands, then the view from the Empire State is no exception. He’s persuaded her to take the lift, and well, here they are. 

The mist has cleared, and they can in fact - in support of her breathless statement – see for miles. 

Central Park to the north, Liberty Island to the south, it’s all here, in minuscule detail. This rooftop is one of the few places in New York where you look down at things, he’s found, and she spends a lot of time doing that. 

For the girl who was obsessed with seeing starlight, Amy’s immersed in the idea of seeing concrete at the moment – hands on the safety rail, as if she were about to launch herself over it and start flying. The Doctor takes to loitering beside her cautiously in case any of her insane ideas get the better of her. It has been known. 

When she’s stared down at the minuscule people and cars for so long that her silence again alerts his attention, she sighs. 

“It all seems so insignificant and tiny; and here we are on the top of the world.” 

She drums her fingers against the rail in thought, catching eyes with him. 

“Do you ever feel like that?” He stares at her. “Y’know, with your whole… alien aurora? Humanity must seem so-” 

“Not even once.” 

He smiles slightly at her, shrugging. The grey trial of 5th avenue stretches beneath them, and all the other tourists on the observation level seem to disappear completely. The sun breaks through a cloud and the rooftops shine gold. 

“You lot are like giants to me.” 

\--- 

Eventually they drag themselves away from the view, and are down on the street again, wondering further south into Midtown Manhattan. Perhaps the view from the skyscrapers have done it, but Amy is now even more besotted in what she’s seeing. 

If the Doctor can see giants, then she’s far past that now. 

He can tell she’s seeing absolutely everything in all the little things; that she probably wants to stand and marvel at everything for hours without taking a single step. Perhaps it does indeed take something like the outer rings of Saturn to appreciate a subway station. He would laugh, but he knows it’s true. 

After they pass their nth street seller, he smiles at her as she gazes around. It’s just past midday, and as he knows all too well, Amy Pond gets unmanageable very quickly without food. Well, more unmanageable than usual. 

“Lunch?”

She laughs.

“Absolutely.” 

He takes her to this little faux Italian place which completely bypasses Times Square, partly because he doesn’t want lunch to be clouded by tourism, and partly because he’s saving that particular destination for later. He won’t tell her why. 

“You’ve never taken me out for lunch before.” 

She notes this casually as they sit together at a small table by the window. She’s eating Bolognese again, which he makes a mental note of.

The Doctor shrugs with a grin. 

“We’re usually more… ah, pressed for time.” 

She starts to agree, but then looks at him flatly. 

“Says the man with a time machine?”

He winces.

“Well. Strictly speaking, I can’t… make more time.” He’s desperately trying to find the right analogy, but she’s staring at him in a vaguely accusing manner, so he falters. “Going back into our own time stream just for some Bolognese… the paradoxes would be-”

“Doctor?”

Amy cuts off a lot of his explanations like this. 

“Yes, Pond?” 

He tries to look as innocent as he can possibly muster, although she seems to have forgotten about her pasta-laden fork that’s hovering inches above the bowl. She closes her eyes in slight exasperation.

“Forget the Bolognese.” 

He says nothing. 

“What I mean is-” She’s off again, “forget the paradoxes.” 

He’s about to open his mouth to protest, but she continues. 

“Lunch doesn’t have to dent the space-time continuum; it’s just… lunch. You could… theoretically, take me out for lunch whenever you like.” 

Amy isn’t sure what she’s even trying to imply, but still waits to see if he’s taken the hint. The Doctor just narrows his eyes at her, so she sighs and eats the pasta from her fork.

Eventually though, he concedes. 

“Theoretically, I could.” He nods thoughtfully for a moment, straightening the lapels of his jacket as Amy holds her breath. “Though I think doing so while we’re 30 seconds away from death on an alien spaceship might be pushing it.” 

She supposes she has to agree with that.


	4. A Starry Night

After what is Amy’s first, and likely last, lunch with The Doctor, they’re back to walking south. 

At this point, Amy doesn’t really know what she’s looking for, but just walking seems to be enough. She’s watching the Freedom tower getting closer in the distance, taxis getting caught in traffic jams around her. 

She doesn’t want to tell the Doctor that after spending several moments deliberating at a crosswalk that she is in fact, entirely lost. As easy as blocks appear, she’s far more familiar with tiny winding streets of rural England. She suspects he can tell a mile off. 

Eventually he says: “I might have a suggestion?” in that in that smooth expectant voice of his, and she gives in. 

After all, he’s been here before, and is, among other things, very good at showing her stuff. That, she admits, he has down. 

When she turns to properly look at him, he’s leaning against the stairwell to the subway without a care in the world. He gestures underground modestly, and even after she’s asked him where they’re going, he just puts a finger to his lips and smiles. 

The moment they’re standing waiting for a train, he turns to her.

“There’s a calm surrender to the rush of day.” 

It’s true she supposes; the subway is comparatively quiet to the avenues above - with everyone still at work, there are a few tourists around, and the Doctor has walked straight past them, knowing entirely how to navigate the labyrinth of tunnels and platforms. 

When the train arrives, he holds out his hand and steps her up from the platform. 

“When the heat of a rolling world,” - he waits for the door to shut behind them - “can be turned away.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Amy likes to pride herself on being a patient person, but he isn’t making any sense. The Doctor just smiles and shakes his head quietly. 

A couple of stops later, with Amy entirely lost as to where they are, The Doctor beckons her out of the subway train to the station exit, taking her hand again.

He leads her along a passageway without saying a word, and then halfway up the spiral staircase: 

“An enchanted moment, and it sees me through.” 

“Doctor wha-”

They’re at the top of the stairs now, at street level, and he takes his hand out of hers to throw his arms open to show her where they are. 

He grins at her realisation.

Broadway. They’re on Broadway. 

It comes to her in another sudden realisation as she stares at all the posters; that he’s been painstakingly quoting the first verse of ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight?’ from the Lion King. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or stare at him in disbelief as he digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out two tickets. 

“It’s enough for this restless warrior, just to be with you.”

If he’s any more poetic, she might have to hug him.

\---

Aside one West End performance of Les Miserables Aunt Sharron dragged her to see when she was 10, Amy’s experience with the theatre is very limited. But mere moments after the show starts, she falls in love with it. 

She knows many people claim to find themselves in a whole other world, but really, her current world is insane as it gets. She doubts even Broadway can match up to the Doctor, but certainly the music is helping her see them both in a whole new clarity. 

He said so himself, he is the restless warrior. 

He says he’s done things he can never speak of, and flits from the place to place like he can never bear to stay still. 

Does that then make her the wide-eyed wanderer? She supposes she was agape at a lot of things today. 

Wondering the universe is never something to take in a stride – not even the Doctor can do that. 

They sit together at the top of the circle, like two star-crossed voyagers. She chances a glance at him, and finds that he’s staring right back at her. 

After the interval, when he returns with two ice creams, she leans on his shoulder, and before she knows it, in a blur of stage light and distant applause, he’s whispering to her. 

“Amelia?” 

She’s pretty sure she replies sleepily, although she wouldn’t hold herself to it. 

“The show’s over. Are you alright?” 

She lifts her head from his shoulder, waking up properly to see the theatre clearing out, the lights brightening. 

“Yeah.” 

That’s all she can manage, but she smiles all the same. “Sorry, I was… in another world.”

“Were there lions in it?” 

The Doctor helps her to her feet with a laugh. Amy nods.

“Mm. The restless warrior. Great guy. Nice phone box too.”

The Doctor narrows his eyes at her until she realises what she’s just told him. She hits him on the arm in vague embarrassment. 

“Oh, be quiet.” 

He laughs. 

\---

Once they’re out of the theatre, the blackness of the night is dominated by the building lights which seem to scrape the sky. Amy looks around as the cold sets in. 

“Speaking of the phone box…” she starts with a small smile, “its ages back that way isn’t it?” 

The Doctor nods; and turns away from the glowing entrance to the subway. While the commute would be easier, he’s never really been one to settle for easy. There’s a walk under the starlight waiting for them, and while it might not be the eye of Orion above Times Square; it’s something. 

It’s just gone midnight when they reach the south entrances to into Central Park. He suspects Amy’s about to start dragging her feet, they’ve got another half an hour’s walk at least – so he takes her by the shoulder. 

“The dog star is the brightest in your sky.” 

He volunteers this casually as they both gaze on it. 

“And over that way-” He points with all the wonder of an ancient professor, “is the asteroid belt leading to Starlight Rock.” 

He’s practically whispering to her at this point; while there are some others around, it’s quiet. Leaves flutter softly, their footsteps catching in a dim rhythm on the pathway.

“What’s Starlight Rock?” 

Amy’s staring up at the stars, and away from the streetlights, The Doctor can see them reflected back in her eyes. 

“Sometimes it’s known as the viewing gallery of the universe.” He smiles through the trees at the thought. “You can look out and see more stars in one sky than you can ever imagine. It’s like daylight.” He grins at her. “Only brighter.” 

The TARDIS appears around the corner as soon as they make it out onto the bank of the reservoir. They walk a couple of silent meters, and just as The Doctor fishes the key out of his pocket, Amy pulls him back. 

“Hey.” 

He turns to her in the light of the lamp, a slight smile on her lips.

Before he has time to think, she kisses him quickly on the cheek, taking the key from his hand and letting herself inside the TARDIS. 

He waits a few moments, considering the surroundings, and by the time he steps inside the control room, she’s already gone.


	5. The Night Before the End of the World

In the morning he doesn’t even have to call her. 

Amy surprises him by walking in, already dressed, earlier than he’s ever remembered her doing so before. 

He’s standing fiddling by the console, and he watches her with some surprise as she descends the staircase.

She’s hasn’t said anything, but she’s gently wafting her hands around as if she really wants to, stumbling over words while clasping her hands beneath her chin.

“Thank you for yesterday.” 

It’s quiet, but it’s there.

He doesn’t have time to respond before she’s hugging him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pushing her chin into his shoulder. “It was amazing.”

The Doctor laughs quietly. He should probably tell her. 

“We’re still here.”

She’s still hugging him when he clicks his fingers, and while the view from the TARDIS door is limited, he knows it’s still enough. 

Amy stares in disbelief, untangling herself from him and making it to the doorway in a slight daze. He follows her with a wise smile. 

There’s grass beneath their feet and a view to the Hudson River. The freedom tower gleams a little way off, glistening in the water. 

Before Amy has a chance to speak, The Doctor takes her by the shoulders, turning her around to face the TARDIS. 

The Statue of Liberty rises into the sky meters from them, casting a shadow onto the scene. 

“A sky tour, Miss Pond?” 

The Doctor extends a hand, and she doesn’t even have to ask. 

\--- 

Of all the times the Doctor has ever inquired about anything, be it about one of Amy’s mannerisms, or her friends back home, she understands his reasoning. 

He’s as clever as he is irritating, and she supposes he just wants to know. He prides himself in knowing the most useless things, as if he’s planning for every eventuality in the universe. Knowing him; it’s probably not a bad idea. 

Sometimes though, he’ll ask her other things, which she can’t quite get her head around. 

He’ll pull up random historical events and quiz her, and she supposes it would feel like a test, if the questions were anywhere near challenging. One evening descended into chaos with: ‘Have you ever heard of the Second World War?’ and looking back on it, she should have hit him. 

Other times he’ll ask her if she remembers things they’ve done together, as if he’s checking she’s paying attention. She’s found that questions like; ‘remember that fantastic bloke we met on Cantillon B?’ can make her strangely uncomfortable. 

Then came the Bolognese at the dinner table. 

He’d leaned casually in and asked: 

‘You remember when I came back for you?’

And it caught her off guard the most, because it was the first time he’d ever inquired about the night before the end of the world. 

Of course, she remembered it, like the back of her hand, like it was yesterday, or, 5 minutes ago. Ironically, it’s still happening, out there, somewhere. 

As long as Amy stays with her raggedy man in his inexplicable blue box, the 25th June 2010 can go on for as long as she wants it to. 

Currently she’s rooting on forever. 

She doesn’t want to grow up quite yet. 

She remembers everything about that night, about the twilight, the starlight – him; turning up mysteriously in a glade like some hero from a fairy-tale. 

It was the night he taught her to fly. 

“Are you okay?” 

And, she’s back. 

The Doctor is staring at her quizzically from across the aisle, and it takes Amy a minute to realise that the dull whirring in her head is actually the helicopter as it lifts off into the sky of Manhattan. 

He’s giving her a particularly wide grin, and she knows she has to at least attempt an explanation. 

“Yeah.” Amy nods, staring right back at him, trying to determine when she first zoned out and started daydreaming about him.

She’d have to make a mental note to stop doing that. 

As the skyscrapers shrink beneath them, The Doctor moves towards the open door, sitting beside it to let the wind flutter in his fringe.

“Come and look at the view!” 

He calls back to her and she can’t even begin to resist.

The city that never sleeps is a mile beneath her feet, and in all the times she’s ever dreamed of New York, she never could have imagined this. She supposes looking down at things is not particularly usual here, when everything’s towering into the clouds, but being in and around the skyscrapers, well, it’s something else entirely.

To Amy, everything vanishes. 

She’s pretty sure the helicopter could turn into a Saturn V space rocket and she wouldn’t notice. She’s far too besotted with the view, with the buildings and the flat expanse of Central Park below to be swayed by any of the noise that surrounds her. She might as well be sitting on nothing, because that’s how it feels. The only thing she’s dimly aware of is her hand, resting on the Doctor’s arm again. She can’t quite remember putting it there, but it doesn’t even seem to matter. 

It hits her that right here, right now, it’s exactly like that night. 

On the night he came back for her, everything vanished too. On the night he taught her to fly she was floating through starlight, the wind of the universe in her hair, and in amongst all the majesty, the only thing she could feel was him holding her. 

“Can you feel it?” 

In the midst of it all, Amy’s not entirely sure what’s real. She’s pretty sure that right now, suspended above the city of her dreams; next to imaginary friend, pretty much everything is up to interpretation, or imagination. So when the Doctor asks her this quietly, it takes her a moment to focus, to stare back at him. 

He repeats himself, louder, over the noise of the helicopter, with a small smile. 

“The night I came back for you. Can you feel it?”

If they weren’t inches from a moving, hundred-foot drop, she’d hug him. She really would. 

\---

“How did you know?” 

It’s afternoon, and they’re back in Central Park, on the boating lake. 

It was the first thing out of Amy’s mouth after the helicopter landed: the boating lake. And then a string of pretty pleases and various other gratifications just to make the Doctor do the rowing. Amy doesn’t do rowing. 

But now, she’s asking questions, which doesn’t surprise him, because she’s an expert at that. And he’s even a bit excited about this particular inquiry, because it means he gets to show off a bit. 

“How did I know you were thinking about that night?” He repeats her question back at her as he rows out into the centre of the lake. “Easy really.” He smiles. “It’s all to do with mind reading.” 

He waits. She just looks at him, so he gives in. “Okay, not entirely.” He looks out at the view, bringing the boat to a stop in the middle of the blue abyss. There are whispers on the water, but he ignores them. 

“I know that whenever you’re flying, Amelia, you feel like everything else vanishes.” He’s not looking at her; he doesn’t even think he can. “It’s like nothing is important, or, it’s all been completely eradicated from existence.” 

Finally he looks back at her with a small smile. 

“I know because I feel it too.”

If Amy doesn’t do rowing, then she certainly doesn’t do speechless. But here she is, and here it is, and not knowing what to say terrifies her because right now, she wants to say everything. 

She wants to have the longest conversation about the night before the end of the world; she wants to go into stupid detail about the starlight, and him; and everything else in-between. She wants to thank him, even though she’s isn’t sure entirely what for. For coming back for her, for showing her the stars, for showing her New York, for feeling it the same way she does, for even telling her that… or maybe for the rowing. She probably needs to thank him for that. 

“Don’t mention it, Pond.” he says. 

So she doesn’t.


	6. Conflict and Croissants

It’s clouding over by the time they get back on solid ground, and the Doctor politely offers Amy his arm with a wistful smile. 

Like the night before he refuses to tell her where they’re going, but as soon as they make their way out into the expanse of Grand Army Plaza, she has a pretty good idea of where they’re headed. 

The thought of tea at the Plaza Hotel is, according to Amy, hilarious. 

She and the Doctor are the least likely people to blend in to such a fancy lobby, with waiters milling about in coat-tails – but here they are. So far no one has batted an eye at their somewhat shoddy appearance, so they gravitate to a golden table by the window. After all, Amy will never refuse a scone. 

As it turns out there are plates and plates of scones, cream, and every single jam she can think of. The tea seems to be on endless refill, so by the time she remembers to look outside, tearing her eyes away from the decorated entrance hall, the square is dark and the stars are out. 

“This must be driving you mad.” Amy starts; questioningly sipping at what she’s pretty sure is her fourth cup of chamomile. “It’s like being on a normal Earth holiday. You must hate it.” 

The Doctor laughs slightly. “I enjoy the certain, ah, slowness, of it.” 

He leans back in his chair, looking around at all the other diners sharing their experience. “I go on and on about how great Earth is, and I never really spend any time here. It’s very nice. You’re a very lucky species.”

He seems entirely at ease, but Amy isn’t convinced. 

“Is it really that great?” 

In her mind, images of atrocities and terror present themselves. 

The Doctor shrugs. 

“Every planet has conflict.” He smiles before examining a butter knife. “But they don’t all have croissants.” 

When Amy’s questioned him relentlessly, and he finally spells it out that he’s entirely-fine-and-not-bored-at-all, she mostly gives in. He’s being beyond nice to her, and she might as well savour it before he’s back reeling lists of inexplicable instructions at her on the deck of an alien spaceship. They’re not 30 seconds away from death here, it’s just him, and her, and all the time in the world. 

When she again asks if he wants to leave and save other planets, he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Only if you do?” 

Amy imagines what happens in New York stays completely in New York, and she will never, ever, get a chance like this again. So she decides to stay just a tiny bit longer. Just because. 

\---

With the TARDIS still on Liberty Island, the Doctor concedes that walking back into downtown Manhattan and catching a ferry in the dead of night may be a step too far. Still, Amy’s not entirely expecting him to stroll over to the reception desk and book the best suite in the Plaza. Which he gets for free, because knowing the owner gets you anything. The original owner, of course. 

They’ve got most of the top floor to themselves, with an unnecessary amount of bathrooms and lounge pillows. A large communal space leads into the bedrooms, and when Amy comes back from her exploration, she finds the Doctor with his feet up.

“We’ve got five bedrooms, and you’re opting for the sofa?” 

She’s beyond incredulous. He shrugs with a grin.

“Sofas are cool.” 

“Shove up then.” 

Whether she’s expecting him to oblige, she isn’t entirely sure, but he does. When she sits down next to him he says:

“That television has one hundred and forty-six channels, there are seventeen assorted cushions, and enough chocolate in the mini fridge to last weeks.” 

Amy hopes he isn’t going to suggest a midnight feast in a pillow fort, because she’d have to hit him. Again. Instead, he shrugs. “It’s alright if you like that kind of thing.” 

“You don’t?” Amy pulls her knees up, looking at him quizzically. From a man who claimed not half an hour ago to love Earth… his inconsistency is baffling. 

“The Shadow Proclamation designated this planet Level 5 for good reason.” 

The Doctor stated this somewhat seriously, as if in deep thought. Sometimes he completely clouded Amy with his childish enthusiasm, but suddenly, he was as close to an ancient wanderer as he could get.

“It wasn’t because of the material stuff, the cushions, the chocolate… or even any technology you will ever have.” He smiles, wafting an arm to the offending objects. “There are a billion different planets that are far more advanced.” 

Amy’s about to open her mouth to fathom some sort of answer, but finds she can think of nothing. Instead, the Doctor continues. 

“Of all the planets I have ever visited, all the moons, and asteroids, in all the galaxies, and cascades, into the furthest reaches of time and space; I have never once come across a civilisation quite like the human race.” 

Amy’s staring at him at this point, unsure of how to look away. 

“You are all so brilliantly complex in your conduct. Your reasoning isn’t based on strategy, like a billion other species, it is based on emotion. And you are not ashamed of that.” 

After a moment, when Amy finally manages to prize her mouth open, she says:

“I was wrong.” 

And it’s The Doctor’s turn to stare at her. 

The world would have to be ending for Amy Pond to admit to being wrong –but yet, the structure of the Earth remains intact. He may have just complimented her entire species, but now he’s giving her a bemused look. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You’re definitely a sexy kind of mysterious.” 

He just laughs. 

\---

In the morning, when the sun begins to filter through the window, Amy wakes to find herself in one of the bedrooms, at least six of the seventeen cushions surrounding her. 

The Doctor is nowhere to be seen, although some vague clattering coming from the living room tells her he’s probably up and intrigued by something, so she drags herself from under the duvet to look. 

“You talk in your sleep.” The Doctor says as soon as she appears, pouring a glass of orange juice nonchalantly from across the room. “I’ve never noticed before.” 

“Good morning to you too?” Amy asks, eyeing the breakfast tray he’s seemingly arranging. She’d rather keep her sleeping habits to herself, although she’s dimly aware she probably doesn’t have a choice.

“Ah, yes, absolutely.” The Doctor nods, his eyes gleaming. “A brilliant morning. One of the best.” 

She watches as he delicately places a pot of jam next to a mountain of toast. 

“…What are you doing?” 

“I would have thought you’d recognise a breakfast tray when you saw one, Pond.”

On this one occasion, Amy lets the Doctor make breakfast for her. Partly because he’s being nice, and partly because she’s stupidly hungry. The scones feel like hours and hours ago and she can barely believe that their trip to Broadway was only two nights before; not millions and millions of years. 

To her it feels like they’ve been here forever – not that she’s particularly minding – but when he’d so casually said ‘all the time in the world’, she sort of hoped he wasn’t being literal. 

It feels stupid that she can’t entirely tell – The Doctor’s relationship with time is a whole level of complexity that she avoids going into, for she never knows whether he’ll offer her a smile or a lecture.

Right now it seems to be marmalade. 

After breakfast is finished, after Amy has tried and failed to pester him about her sleep-talking – he admits she was muttering about Gloucestershire, although he refuses to be more specific – they’re back on the streets of Manhattan. 

“New York, day three.” 

The Doctor affirms, looking around at the trees as they seem to shimmer in the morning sunlight. The square is already filling up with people going about their business, the clamour of the city coming to life. “The third attempt is always my favourite.” 

“Attempt?” 

Amy is incredulous. In her head day three is reserved entirely for museums and cultural stuff that she hopes the Doctor might be interested in, not that she’s entirely dismissing Broadway or anything remotely like a scone. 

“Mm.” The Doctor nods casually. “My third attempt at regeneration resulted in a liking for impractical scarves and jelly babies.” Amy just stares. “I think I was Scouse!” 

He seems delighted, but before she can say anything, he’s strolling away.


	7. Keeping Score

Amy isn’t entirely sure why museums are so high up on her New York bucket list. Travelling with the Doctor, they almost become unnecessary, but she still wants to see them. 

She loves hearing the Doctor’s insane anecdotes as they walk through endless corridors – although she never knows quite whether to believe what he tells her. Sometimes he’ll take her hand and explain in stupid detail about the animals of the last ice age, all their names and all their tribes. 

Of course, it’s all at their disposal, the Middle Ages in all of its legitimacy and reality is a lever away on the TARDIS console, but sometimes that isn’t even the point. 

They could very well land in 1989 and see the fall of the Berlin Wall, but seeing a section of it in a gallery… sometimes it’s better. As they look upon the visitors, staring open mouthed at exhibits well before their time, it’s all the terms of how it’s remembered. The Doctor says so himself. The present is, after all, fleeting. 

A ten-minute walk from the Plaza is the New York Museum of Modern Art, and while it’s not exactly history, it’s something. 

There are rooms and rooms of canvas and many more of sculpture. generations of visitors mill about, absorbing the scene, as the Doctor duly takes it all in. 

Only when they stop in front of a canvas with a particularly abstract pattern, does Amy have something to say. 

“What the hell is that supposed to represent?” 

She raises her eyebrow and the Doctor laughs. 

“Ooh, anything.” He wafts his hand around in mock declaration. “Barcelona? Blood of your enemies? Take your pick.” 

The next sculpture is not much better. 

All the other tourists are happily drinking it in, nodding almost solemnly to their audio-guides. Themes of anti-terrorism and foreign relations hang silently in the air like an inescapable fog, but the Doctor takes one look and flatly says: 

“Badgers.” 

Amy dissolves into giggles. 

They’ve stopped for takeaway coffee and have wondered north by the time they reach the Museum of Biblical Art. As polar opposites go, they think they’ve found it, as this particular place seems to be very much closed. 

As the Doctor pouts on the sidewalk, staring into the bottom of his cardboard cup, it takes Amy a moment to wonder why she’s secretly pleased. Disastrous scenarios present themselves of him approaching strangers, cheerfully asking:

“Did you know I personally knew Jesus?” 

So all things considered, it’s probably for the best. She doesn’t feel particularly in the mood to drag him away from anything today, and God knows she’s done it enough. 

“Come on, you.” 

He’s watching her when she turns to him, so together they lose themselves in the Upper West Side for a while. 

\---

If Amy spent her first day in New York gaping at hot dog stands, The Doctor doesn’t know why he’s so surprised that day three is near identical. Although this time she seems to be fascinated with staircases, which he finds even more baffling, because he’s pretty sure she’s seen those before. They do in fact, exist elsewhere. 

She’s got her hand in the crook of his elbow again, and as they stroll, she’s looking around at the apartment blocks with their brick facades, besotted with fire escapes and stone terraces. The trees dividing the sidewalk from the road do little for shade, but they rustle somewhat in the breeze. 

The Doctor narrows his eyes. 

“I think, y’know, stairs… they’re pretty common.”

Amy tuts, but otherwise ignores him, swatting his arm with her other hand as she continues looking with wide eyes. When in New York, he supposes. 

Still, he’s not giving in just yet, and tries again with a sloppy smile, leaning into her shoulder. “I think they have them in London, or…” 

She finally looks at him, giving him a famous stare until he breaks off in a playful discontent. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you were from Gloucester.” 

Before he can invent the staircase extinction of 1742 just to wind her up further, her accent grows ten-fold with her protest, and he smiles. 

Inverness, of course. Of course. She could be from nowhere else. Amy Pond, the girl with all the fire, the sarcasm, and the overall mind-numbingly brilliant Scottishness, well, she’s currently besotted with a flight of stairs. 

So he laughs. 

Until she whacks him. 

\---

A little further along, with Central Park on the right, they reach the American Museum of Natural History. 

Amy’s well prepared for the Doctor’s launch into lecture-mode, almost waltzing around the cabinets in sheer delight as he explains all the species lost to time. He’s got that gleam in his eyes that she wouldn’t dare disrupt, even when he’s given her the same fact about woolly mammoths at least three times over. 

Sometimes he notices something so specific that he takes her by the hand and drags her across the room, only to press his nose against the glass.

They’re looking in on what she’s pretty sure is a tooth of an ancient jaguar, when says completely seriously:

“His name was Brian.”

Amy has to stop herself from succumbing to laughter in the quiet hall, so she bites her lip.

“Brian the two million year-old jaguar?” 

The Doctor nods. 

“Great guy.”

When they’ve exhausted themselves of the ice age, and even of the dinosaurs, they’re walking down a corridor between exhibitions. 

“What now?” 

Amy’s intrigued, but somewhat sceptical. 

She’s dimly aware of all the more… environmental natural history that they haven’t come across yet, and no matter how open minded she may be, she’s not sure information boards on volcanoes and earthquakes quite float her boat. They’re a bit dull at the best of times, never mind with New York outside waiting for them. 

“All of time and space.” 

The Doctor says this so casually that Amy has to stop and stare. 

If he’s implying he wants to leave, then it surprises her, especially after her grilling session last night. He said he wasn’t bored at all, he promised her, he really did, with that stupid grin of his. 

They’re halfway through one of the most famous museums in the world, and he’s just gleefully shown her the past wonders of civilisations. But here he is, suddenly offering her the stars as an alternative. 

“Anywhere and everywhere. Every star that ever was.” 

It takes her a moment to realise he’s not offering that at all, not really. He’s just repeating himself, and it’s the night before the end of the world all over again. When the universe was spilling out of his pockets and he gave her a smile to save constellations. 

Amy doesn’t know when she started holding her breath, but she’s dimly aware of it as he nods over to the sign above the doorway ahead of them.

The Rose Center for Earth and Space, and the Hayden Planetarium.

Oh. She breathes out. 

Amy knows all too well he’s about to go in there and cause chaos, even more so than he would have done at the Museum of Biblical Art. He knows a little about a lot of things, but space… space is his thing. He could happily ramble about it for millennia, and she’s convinced he already has done. 

The last thing she’d ever do is stop him. 

It suddenly occurs to her, in all the times she’s ever interrupted him, dragged him away from people and places that were probably better left alone, it was the worst thing she could have ever done. 

Not for the fate of the planet, she’s not even thinking of that, but… 

She loves it. She loves the way he roams around collecting insane bits of information from every corner of the universe, spitting it back out at anyone and everyone he meets. He’s not even thinking about it, he’s just entirely lost in the moment, and it hits her that she needs to learn to live like that. 

She needs to let go of the humanity that drags her down - even though the Doctor says it suits her. She needs to lose herself in the stars, and she needs to lose herself in him, because he’s nothing short of extraordinary. 

To her, the Doctor shines like New York City, and she’s fallen in love with the latter. 

If he’s already shown her the stars, then right now it doesn’t seem to matter. It’s all a bit of a free-fall, his hand is on her shoulder and the next thing Amy knows they’re both inside the space centre together. She can’t read his expression through the dim, but that doesn’t seem to matter either. 

“The dog star is the brightest in your sky.” 

He’s repeating himself a lot today, and this is no exception. They may be standing in front of a projection, but the first starry night in Central Park comes flooding back to her.

“Do you know why?” 

Amy shakes her head, not daring to speak. She doesn’t even know if he can see. He’s pointing into the light field, picking out the detail of its composition.

“It’s not one star, it’s two.” 

He’s practically whispering in her ear at this point, and everything else melts away. 

“Space can be very lonely, Amelia.”

He smiles at her. 

“Sometimes the greatest adventure is having someone share it with you.”


	8. New York, New York

Amy’s not at all surprised that the sky is growing dark by the time they step outside. Their desire to examine absolutely everything in the museum had taken hours, with all the label-reading and The Doctor’s over the top explanations. 

Despite a clear sky, the night is warm, the clamour of the city ever present under a thousand lights. 

“New York City.”

The Doctor states this contently with a sense of finality as he stands on the sidewalk, looking at the view with his hands in his pockets. He rolls it over his tongue as if he’s trying it out, mulling it over and listening as it echoes dimly on the street corner. It sounds good. It makes Amy smile. 

“Anywhere in particular?” He gestures almost nonchalantly to the gate of Central Park a few yards away, and then to the Chrysler Building and Empire State, glistening in the distance. 

Just as he’s offering her his arm, Amy says: 

“Why don’t you choose?” 

He just looks at her. 

She’s secretly hoping he’s got another Broadway-esque surprise up his sleeve, although even if he doesn’t, she doesn’t care. It’s up to him to decide, she thinks, he deserves at least that. 

She watches his expression change under the streetlight as thinks about it, before he smiles. 

“Two miles south from here.” 

He refuses to say why. 

\--- 

If the lights are bright throughout the City, they’re nowhere near as luminous as they are here. There’s nowhere Amy can look that isn’t blindingly bright, and teeming with life. 

The noise of course is catastrophic, the people and cars intermingling almost without care for disaster, but the Doctor just smiles as they gaze together from the north triangle of Times Square. 

“Amy Pond, welcome to the centre of the universe.” 

Naturally, while they’ve been to the real centre of the universe on their travels through space, this is different. It’s a long way away from the leafy villages of Gloucestershire, both literally and figuratively, and he knows she’s never seen anything like it. 

He also suspects she doesn’t know what to say, but it doesn’t stop her grinning. 

If their walk through Central Park showed him the stars in her eyes, then he hopes Times Square can do one better. He wants to see them, clear as day, shining through the reflections of plasma screens – because right now her irises are turning all the colours of constellations. 

Discretely, he reaches for the sonic screwdriver in his pocket and aims it leisurely at the stars. 

Amy’s not entirely sure what she’s seeing until she does see it – and then she laughs. 

Purely because The Doctor is so impossibly brilliant, and purely because she can’t believe he’s remembered. 

It was just one throwaway daydream, months and months ago, wasn’t it? 

Without the need for a city-wide blackout, the Eye of Orion glitters above Times Square. The Doctor just smiles. 

“You’re very welcome.” 

\--- 

When she’s finished rooting herself to the spot, they take a walk. They’re heading for the centre, weaving in and out of people, right in the middle of everything, when the Doctor says:

“I think you’d get on with the architect of this place.” 

It’s so casual that Amy knows there’s something else coming, there always is - he’s being suspiciously mysterious with his statements tonight, even more so than usual. 

“Why?” She asks, looking at him with a raised eyebrow as they stand by a crosswalk. “Because this place is insane as it gets and you know full well I’m past that?” 

He laughs, looking up at the towers above them. 

Amy follows his gaze. “Whoever designed it must have been out of their mind.” 

It’s almost odd, standing here. Everything fits together, but she can’t seem to fathom how. It’s crammed together, towering sky high in such a small space. And yet it seems to go on for miles. “…Or maybe; some kind of genius?” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The Doctor replies, casually. 

When Amy stares at him, he points out that they’re standing in a bow-tie-shaped square, nicknamed after the universe. She gets three guesses.

The dead giveaway is of course the bigger on the inside feeling, if you know where to look. 

By this point she really, really doesn’t know what to say. So she gives in and buys him a drink.

\---

They’re standing on the Pedestrian plaza outside a line of restaurants, when she asks him. 

She doesn’t know whether it’s because she’s slightly drunk, or because she’s always been oddly partial to Frank Sinatra, but when the chorus of ‘New York, New York’ drifts casually from speakers God-knows-where, she says: 

“Do you know how to dance?” 

The Doctor looks vaguely offended, leaning up against an advertising board. But then he laughs.

“Not in the slightest. Do you?” 

They may be standing in the middle of the busiest cross-section in the world, with a million other people and countless cars, but the lights are bright, the stars are out, and the music’s playing; so to hell with it all. 

He offers Amy his arm, and they vaguely organise themselves, her hand on his shoulder, his on her waist, and since neither of them have any idea what they’re supposed to do; they just end up offhandedly swaying to the music. Their steps are completely uncoordinated, and they’re tripping over each other’s feet, but she’s enjoying it, and as far as she can tell, so is he. 

So much for little town blues and all the people they’re getting in the way of – Sinatra’s still swinging in Times Square, and the Doctor’s still holding her hand, so he grins, extends an arm, and twirls her around. 

Unsurprisingly, if he’s trying to be professional, it doesn’t end up that way. Their limbs tangle together and she’s already tripping again, laughing at the face he’s pulling in an attempt to keep her up off the floor. 

In the midst of the centre of the universe, well, they’re being idiotic. 

They’re dancing in the middle of Times Square, and if it’s a sight to behold, then she’s not looking. Forget the stares, the square, or the stars he’s put here, she’s had three whole days to gaze at this city. So she’s gazing at him instead, with his stupid fringe and lopsided smile. Because she can’t seem to do anything else.

What happens in New York stays in New York, Amy thinks. 

What happens here doesn’t have to be perfect, but in many ways, it already is. 

\---

“I have a surprise.” The Doctor announces, when Sinatra transitions into ‘Leaving New York’ by R.E.M. 

Amy’s beyond guessing. It could be anything at this point. Literally, anything. 

He’s still holding her, one hand on her waist, but he winks, and reaches up to click his fingers. 

There’s a familiar wheezing and groaning, as if from the heavens themselves, and before Amy can say anything, a weird haze descends, and the TARDIS materialises around them. 

They’re standing in exactly the same position, halfway through a dance, but the glass floor is suddenly beneath their feet, the copper walls arching to the ceiling. The song from outside fizzes on through the gramophone. 

The Doctor shrugs. “More privacy and better acoustics.” 

She’s speechless. He grins. 

“A dance, Miss Pond?” 

\---

If Amy remembers little about the Lion King on Broadway, then she remembers even less about that night in the TARDIS. 

She doesn’t remember the playlist of New York-themed songs they danced to – as far as she can recall it’s only R.E.M on repeat - or the colours of the console which pulsed like galaxies they couldn’t even see. 

In part, she blames it on the champagne, or at least that’s what she’ll tell the Doctor when he inevitably brings up it one day in the future, over a bowl of Bolognese. 

She hopes that maybe he’ll lounge across from her with a smile and inquire: 

“Do you remember the night on Times Square?” 

Because then it’ll almost become as fairy-tale, and as special to them, as the night before the end of the world already seems to be. 

\---

To the girl who’s seen the furthest reaches of the universe, the three days here have been immense. 

New York is the city of the Doctor; with all of its extraordinary avenues, optimism, and hope. 

Leaving it isn’t easy, just as she suspects leaving him will never be.

But, as he says, there are planets in the sky, and people to see. 

\---

The next morning, when he smiles at her, when Times Square is still outside their door - should she want it - she declines. 

She’s rooting on forever with her raggedy man, of course she is. 

But then again, the present is fleeting. Everything becomes the past, and everything ends.

It’s easier to leave, she’s realised, than to be left behind. 

“I think the universe needs us, don’t you?” 

She leans against the console with a smile as the Doctor throws a few levers. 

“I’m sure it does, Amelia.”


End file.
